It's been a few weeks since the last 'Thursday @ 3' - and I have to say it's good to be back!
To celebrate, here's a little tale coasting in at 333 words, the upper end of the limit for these Thursday afternoon (UK time!) treats - but, heck, that's just numbers, unless it's your passion, like one of today's characters.......
FIBONACCI RULES! OK?
The man with the shaved head and expensive-looking shades glanced across the table at the cowed, shambling figure opposite. Clearly the two were not entirely comfortable in each other’s presence but pressing needs brought them together, so what could not be enjoyed somehow had to be endured.
Simon shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable with the sophisticated café-culture that formed the backdrop to their unlikely rendezvous but thankful for the foaming latte he cradled in his hands. Despite the Spring chill, several street-side tables were occupied, so they did not look totally out of place, sunglasses notwithstanding. He smiled briefly knowing he possessed something that set him apart from Delacroix and he began tapping away at the notebook propped open on the table.
His particular proficiency centred on the exact science of mathematics. Since early childhood he had been in thrall to all things numerical. He could appreciate a sophisticated beauty in numbers that few others could understand. Indeed, his love affair with calculus and its absolute exactness had impaired his ability to cope with the variables of everyday life, which he considered chaos. He had retreated inwards, shunning the outer world where possible, but still prostituting his numerical finesse when the need arose.
Delacroix pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck, frustration growing behind the dark glass that veiled his eyes. His unspoken irritation prompted the tapping of a few final staccato keystrokes and Simon turned the notebook towards his ‘employer’.
Since their last meeting he had discovered much that disquieted him concerning the mysterious Delacroix. A previously resisted urge of patriotism had surfaced, along with a pleasurable realisation that the mathematical codes he’d created to deceive Delacroix and thwart his treacherous plans would also conceal his own identity.
With the transaction completed he stepped smartly away from the table, pocketing the proffered envelope of cash and headed for the subway. Hearing the approaching sirens he smiled briefly and scratched one up to the nerds, then disappeared into the maze of tunnels.
(As always, comments and feedback are invaluable - and greatly appreciated, thank you!)